Asking the Stars
by shouldsleep
Summary: Wee!chesters Sam is six, Dean is ten The pressures of the hunting life affect Dean. The boys stay with a family friend and get a taste of normalcy. Please review if you are enjoying the story- it makes me write faster! :
1. Chapter 1

**Title: ****Asking the Stars  
Author: shouldsleep  
Rated: PG 13 (no language in this one, but that may change in the next part)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This story is just for my amusement.**

**Summary: Wee!chesters (Sam is six, Dean is ten) The pressures of the hunting life affect Dean. The boys stay with a family friend and get a taste of normalcy.**

It was little things, really.

Just a phone call from an elementary school teacher in Illinois, and a few uneaten meals- not much in the scheme of things; barely worth a second thought in a world fraught with other evils.

The teacher had called him on his cell during the boys' first week, asking him to stop by her classroom after school. It was a bit aggravating really, being halfway to Chicago at the time, but John knew better than to miss a meeting with a teacher. He knew the frequent moving drew some unwanted attention to the boys whenever he enrolled them at a new school, combining the constant upheaval with signs of neglect and social services would surely come a knocking.

…

Sitting at her desk grading papers, the tiny dark haired woman jumped when John cleared his throat in the doorway, the sudden appearance of the giant man taking her by surprise.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you Mrs…Carrow," the large man apologized, scanning his eyes around the room until he saw her name printed on the board in loopy cursive.

"Olivia," she said, extending her hand which was dwarfed in a firm handshake.

"John Winchester."

"Oh, Dean's father, thank you for coming."

"You wanted to talk about my son's behaviour? Has he been giving you trouble?"

"Oh no, nothing like that; he's actually very well behaved- quiet, but he takes direction well, very obedient."

John smiled and nodded, that sounded like Dean, he knew how to fly under the radar.

"Actually, I wanted to show you something." She motioned him over to the large bulletin board papered in children's artwork. One piece stood out in stark relief to the others, and made his breath catch in his throat.

"I'm guessing this is his," John said gravely, moving closer to study the painting.

"They were drawing their dreams. See how happy the others are? Michael dreamed he could fly, and Sarah dreamed she had a pink pony… Dean's is a nightmare."

"Kids have bad dreams. He's probably watching horror movies at his babysitter's house," John lied.

Dean _was_ the babysitter, and he and Sammy laughed at horror movies- pointing out the inaccuracies and shaking their heads at the characters' poor decision making.

Mrs. Carrow nodded, but the concerned look didn't leave her face.

"He doesn't join in with the other children. Every recess he just sits by the fence; he keeps an eye on your other son- a first grader, right? I asked him if he wanted to play with his classmates, but he declined- politely of course."

"He's a little shy, moving around a lot, it's hard to make friends. He could also be catching a bug; his little brother is quite the germ magnet…"

"The lunch monitor said he doesn't bring a lunch," she continued.

"He must have forgotten it. He's off in his own little world half the time…" John said, smiling unconvincingly.

"Forgive me if I'm overstepping my bounds, Mr. Winchester, but I'm worried about your son," Mrs. Carrow said quietly.

…

They stayed in Carbondale another week, before John decided it was time to move on. He'd banished the angry janitor spirit from a group of office towers in Chicago, and he wanted to leave Illinois before Dean's teacher could cause any trouble.

Dean was fine.

A painting was a painting, and his son had always been a bit of a loner- there was nothing wrong with that.

He'd talked to a contact, Will Hammond, in Durango Mountain, Colorado, where there'd been a suspicious number of rock climbing accidents. Hammond needed backup to eradicate the family of sasquatches living in the mountain's foothills. Maybe the boys could even learn to ski.

…

They were driving anyway, so when John read about the disappearances in Omaha, they made a slight detour to the cornhusker state.

Sam was restless in the car, and Dean entertained him with endless games of I Spy and Twenty Questions. His oldest was a good son and a good brother- Dean was fine.

Settling the boys in a seedy motel on the outskirts of the city, John reiterated the rules that Dean had heard so many times before.

_Don't answer the door._

_Lay the salt lines before you go to bed._

_Keep your gun under your pillow._

_Look after Sammy._

He hadn't thought to add, 'come and save my ass at three in the morning' to the list.

…

It was his own damned fault.

If he'd done his homework he would have known that the werewolf he was hunting had a mate. An angry mate that would try and rip his leg off in the millisecond before John managed to put a silver bullet between its eyes. Bleeding like a stuck pig, and half a mile from the impala, he gritted his teeth and dialled his cell.

Mary would have ripped off his other leg if she had known he would call their boys in the middle of night to help him out of this mess.

He was in too much pain to wonder what a cabby would think about driving two kids to an abandoned car in their pyjamas at three in the morning, but later he would be glad that money was good for buying silence, and a big tip could persuade most people to look the other way.

Back at the motel, Dean had watched from the bed as John stitched his own wound, biting on a rag soaked with whiskey as he sealed up the cut with thread. Dean crawled out from the covers, careful not to wake Sammy, and brought John a glass of water. His son helped him into bed, and he drifted off almost immediately.

Dean sat in the chair by the window; wakefully, he looked up at the stars, silently thanking whoever was in charge for making everything turn out okay. After a few minutes he headed into the bathroom to scrub the blood from under his nails.


	2. Chapter 2

John had always been quick to heal and move on, in body if not in spirit.

A few weeks laying low in Nebraska and he was restless to get back in the car; eager to get back to hunting evil and salting and burning its bones.

Packing up what little they had, John loaded their belongings into the impala and told the boys to wait in the car while he checked out.

Sammy bounded into the front seat like an eager puppy, seeming a little disappointed that he hadn't even had to fight to get the prized perch.

After paying the bill (unknowingly footed by a Mr. Gregor Petrovich), John turned in the room key and went to start the car. Seeing only Sammy's floppy hair sitting inside, he checked the backseat in case Dean was lying down.

Impatiently, he strode back to the locked motel room and banged on the door.

"Dean! Get your butt in the car, you're holding us up!" he yelled, peering in the little curtained window.

Yielding no response, he banged again and shouted his son's name more loudly.

Getting pretty fed up by this point, he resorted to the oldest trick in his book.

"Dean, come outside right now, or I'm breaking down this door! That is _an order_."

A moment or two later, Dean emerged from the room. He looked tired and sad, and John almost didn't have the heart to yell at him, but he had deliberately disobeyed and had to be punished.

"You can tack on an extra mile to your training tonight, and clean the guns when we get to Durango."

Dean accepted this with a nod of his head before slowly sitting down on the sidewalk.

"I don't want to go to Colorado," he said quietly.

"You're going," growled John, frowning.

Sammy was usually the one to cause problems, this was unlike Dean, but he knew he had to nip any insubordination in the bud. It was too dangerous to have the boys on the road if they didn't follow directions.

Dean made no move to get up, so he picked his son up, surprised at how little he weighed- _must be all the training-_ and dropped him into the backseat.

_Colorado or bust_.

…

They stopped for lunch at a truck stop diner, a family owned place with motherly waitresses and a limited menu.

Sammy babbled about what he wanted from Santa Claus and the snowman he would build when they reached Hammond's around mouthfuls of French fries.

Dean sat listlessly in the booth with his brother, his hamburger and fries lay untouched on the plate in front of him.

"Eat your food, Dean."

Dean took a small bite from the burger before standing up.

"I'm going to the bathroom."

John had paid the bill and had Dean's food wrapped up to take with them, and his oldest still wasn't back. Making his way into the little restroom, he knocked on the first stall with the small pair of feet peeking out.

"You alright in there, Dean? It's time to hit the road."

"My stomach hurts," came the quiet answer from behind the door.

"We'll stop at the next gas station, get you a ginger ale," John promised.

"I don't want to go in the car."

"Come on, Dean," John said in a warning tone. He was trying to be understanding, but his patience was wearing thin.

"I'm not coming out."

"Do you want more people to die because you're being stubborn? You're ten years old, Dean; you're too old to be pulling this crap. I wanted to start taking you on hunts- as soon as Sammy's old enough to stay by himself… now I doubt you've got the discipline."

The door opened with a squeak and the boy slowly followed his father to the car.

…

John didn't get to Colorado for another week.

Dean's stomach aches were getting worse and he slept most of the time, and Sammy was especially whiny without his older brother to entertain him. When Dean went to bed without dinner and refused breakfast the next morning, John had had enough.

Piling the boys into the impala, he'd driven to the nearest clinic which happened to be in Grand Island. He knew how to cauterize a wound and give himself stitches, but he wasn't too proud to admit he was stumped by a simple tummy ache.

It was best to make sure there was nothing serious wrong with the boy, so he could put his mind to other things.

The doctor was elderly, but his handshake was firm and he gave Dean a thorough examination, feeling his belly and asking lots of questions about the boy's diet and bathroom habits. Dean didn't say much, allowing his father to answer for him while he examined the tiles on the floor.

"Why don't you go play in the waiting room with your brother, Dean, while I have a little chat with your dad?"

Dean gratefully jumped down from the seat with the butcher paper on it and left the office.

His dad didn't like to take him or Sam to the doctor's, so he figured that he must be really sick. He wondered if he died if he would see his mom, and if his father could look after Sammy without his help.

"Is it serious?" John asked softly.

"I don't think there's any physical reason for his pain, he seems like a pretty healthy kid actually," the doctor answered truthfully.

"He's faking, then?"

"No, I don't think so. Dean's stomach aches seem more like anxiety. Have there been any recent changes in his life?"

John knew the doctor meant well, but he didn't like where the conversation was headed. He just wanted a prescription- a simple course of medication to make his son well.

"He's changed schools, my job means we've had to move around a lot," John admitted, feeling guilty.

"Have you or your wife noticed any changes in behaviour? Is he more clingy than usual?"

…

"Why can't we come to Colorado?"

Sammy was crying now, and kicked the dashboard repeatedly until John grabbed his leg a little harder than was necessary.

"Behave yourself! This isn't open for discussion. It's going to be too dangerous, and the elementary school is too far from where we'll be staying. You guys can't miss anymore school or I'll be arrested."

Dean's eyes went big at this statement, and John mentally kicked himself for being so dramatic. The last thing the poor kid needed was more worries.

"It's because of me," Dean told his brother quietly, looking ashamed.

"That's not true. The constant travelling isn't good for you guys- you need to eat something other than fast food, and to stay in one place long enough to make friends. I have a friend in Kansas that is willing to take care of you boys for a few months… and I think we need to let her."

The boys might have detected the pleading look in his eye that begged them not to argue, but for whatever reason they seemed to accept this answer, and settled in for the drive.


	3. Chapter 3

**Rated: PG 13 (no language in this one, but that may change in the next part)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This story is just for my amusement.**

**Summary: Wee!chesters (Sam is six, Dean is ten) The pressures of the hunting life affect Dean. The boys stay with a family friend and get a taste of normalcy.**

"I- I'm worried about him, Marian. I'm just- I'm worried," John stuttered, as he watched the boys playing from her kitchen window.

Sammy scampered after the little boy from next door, in the midst of a game of freeze tag that never lasted long with only two players. Dean sat and watched from the picnic table, his scabby knees pulled into his chest and hugged by pale arms.

Dean had calmed down a bit in the day since their arrival, but he still wasn't eating much and had crawled into bed with his dad and little brother the night before.

…

John hadn't met Marian Breedlove under the best of circumstances.

Mary had died six months earlier, and he was just beginning his career investigating the supernatural.

Marian's husband Waylon had died on a hunt a few years before, and she'd decided it was time to part with his belongings; holding onto the past had been keeping her from moving on.

John was happy to take the equipment off of her hands. Rifles and good knives were expensive, and Waylon's weaponry had been well cared for and still had plenty of fight in it yet.

They'd gotten to talking- Marian recalling her husband's adventuresome spirit, and John sharing some fond memories of his wife. The older woman had been a school guidance counsellor before retiring at the age of sixty, a rare sympathetic ear in a circle more comfortable discussing ten ways to banish a spirit than grief or loss.

John had brought the boys to stay once before; he had a broken leg at the time, and Sammy was in the terrible twos and needed a supervisor that could catch him.

He'd never left them alone overnight with anyone else since Mary had died. His general rule of thumb was that other people couldn't be trusted… but Dean needed some stability, so he was making a concession to the rule- albeit somewhat grudgingly.

He tried to provide everything his boys needed to thrive, but at the end of the day he was one parent, not two and he always seemed to come up short. Dean filled in the gaps with Sammy, but he often wondered how the boys were affected by not having a mother figure in their lives.

Dean remembered Marian, but Sam had been too little the last time they'd met.

John had been worried that his youngest would make a scene about being left to stay with a strange lady, but the little boy seemed to relish the older woman's attention; delighting in the fresh baked cookies she gave to him and his brother, and listening raptly as she read aloud from an old hard covered book of Greek mythology.

Dean was too old to be read to like a little baby, but he lingered on the outskirts of the room, cleaning his father's guns within listening distance and secretly enjoying the stories as well.

He could be happy here, but only if his dad would stay too.

…

On the morning he was set to leave for Durango, John couldn't find his boots.

The massive brogans with their cracked leather and fraying laces should have been easy to find; he'd left them on Marian's porch the night before, flanked by Dean's boots and Sammy's little running shoes that lit up every time he took a step.

He searched all over the house, asking Marian and the boys if they had seen them, but turning up nothing. Luckily he had an old pair of shoes in the impala, which he put on before coming inside to say goodbye to everyone.

He gave Marian a gentle embrace, his muscles thanking her for agreeing to protect what he held most dear. She was braver than most to agree to watch two rambunctious kids she barely knew for an unknown length of time.

Sammy hugged him genially, seemingly forgetting his earlier outrage at being left behind. He handed John a wrinkled drawing of a snowman and asked his dad to bring back a Sasquatch claw for him to wear on a chain.

A boy at his last school had had a bear tooth around his neck, and Sammy had been impressed.

John laughed and promised to do his best before turning to his other son.

"Be good for Mrs. Breedlove and look after Sammy, okay?"

The boy nodded solemnly and stood on his tiptoes to whisper something in his father's ear.

John nodded in reply before climbing into the car and heading down the dusty road.

His face was only visible in profile as he drove away, hiding the tears that shone on his cheeks.

…

Marian quickly distracted the boys by asking them to tend to the chickens; Dean's face was tear streaked, although he brushed them away when he met her eye, his face reddening with embarrassment.

Sammy ran to feed the chickens, scattering huge handfuls inside the cosy little henhouse; if this continued they would soon be too fat to fit in their nest boxes. Marian handed Dean a wicker basket lined with a tea towel, and showed him how to carefully lift the eggs from the straw.

She knew the boy had been trained like a warrior, so she was surprised to see how gently he handled each egg, working slowly so as not to break a single one.

She would try and move slowly with him, although her personality tended to like to jump into 'projects' with both feet; she would be patient, he seemed like he could break as well.

…

Dean didn't come downstairs for dinner.

Sammy ate his macaroni and cheese with gusto, seemingly impressed that it was possible to actually _make_ macaroni and cheese that didn't come in a box. He chatted with Marian about his favorite chicken and the new school he'd be starting on Monday, and wondered aloud what his dad was having for dinner.

It took all of Marian's strength not to run up the stairs two at a time (in spite of her arthritic hip) and give Dean a hug. She wanted to rock him in her arms and promise him that everything would be alright.

This might have worked if she had been dealing with Sam, but Dean was trickier. Only four years older than his brother, but wise beyond his years and with a sense of dignity that wouldn't permit any obvious babying.

Summoning all of her willpower, she washed the dishes while Sammy dried and then ran a bath for the little boy. She sat on the hamper for half an hour while he splashed around in the tub, diving his little action figures off the soap dish, and performing rescue missions with a plastic boat.

She was glad to see that Sam seemed so well adjusted and felt a flood of warmth for John, although she knew his brother probably was probably equally responsible for the youngster's innocence.

Despite living out of a suitcase in a constant state of upheaval the little boy seemed happy.

She wished his brother was as well.

…

At eight o'clock, after Sammy had been read to and tucked in, she headed down the hall to her son's childhood room; Jeremy was a big shot lawyer now, newly married and living in Boston with his college sweetheart. The walls were lined with penants of various sports teams, and the closet had some clothes in it, but she had cleared out the chest of drawers and moved her son's basketball trophies and most of his belongings into storage.

She wanted Dean to feel that this was _his_ room, even if it was only temporary.

Marian knocked gently on the door, hesitantly turning the handle after getting no response. The bed was neatly made and Dean's beat up duffle bag was still sitting unpacked on the desk. She sat down in the wooden rocking chair by the window and looked out at the stars.

It was pitch black outside, and the moon and constellations stood out in stark relief. Her eyes traced the ram and the river, and she sighed at the beauty of the spiral galaxy Triangulum. She heard a small sound from the closet and went over to open the door, gently waking the boy- already in pyjamas, his feet in a giant pair of leather boots.

"Dean? Do you want to get into bed?"

Marian picked up the boots and placed them on the nightstand, and offered Dean a hand to stand up. The shadows under his eyes were darker than ever, but he accepted her help and even let her tuck him under the covers.

"Are you hungry? I can bring your dinner up on a tray if you want."

"No thanks," he replied quietly, reaching over to tuck one of the laces into its boot.

"I made macaroni and cheese. Your brother said it was better than Kraft Dinner, which I take it is quite the compliment from a six year old."

"My stomach hurts," Dean said, looking away from her at the spidery silhouettes the trees cast upon his wall.

"I'll be right back, hon," she promised. "Unless you're tired and want to sleep?"

"It's only eight o'clock," Dean said disgustedly, as Marian laughed at the typical response; it was something Jeremy would have said at that age, easily insulted at the suggestion that he was still a child.

She patted his knee, and padded down the hall to the kitchen. Putting the kettle on to boil, she sobered at the thought that in many ways Dean had never _had _the chance to be a child.

John loved his boys, there was no doubt about that, but hunting monsters and babysitting was no life for a ten year old, and the weight of responsibility placed on them was far too big for Dean's shoulders.

Heading back to Jeremy's- _Dean's_- room carrying two hot mugs of ginger tea, she checked in on Sam, not surprised to see Dean sitting in a chair keeping a silent vigil.

"C'mon honey, let's let Sam sleep," Marian whispered; the boy stood up reluctantly, peering back over his shoulder as he followed her out into the hall.

"This might help settle your tummy. My grandma used to make it for me and my brother when we weren't feeling good."

She moved the rocker closer to the bed and tucked Dean in for the second time.

"Did my dad call when I was upstairs?" Dean wanted to know.

"Sorry, hon. Why don't we phone him in the morning?"

"He said he would call when he got there."

"He might have arrived very late. Too late to call."

"What if he's hurt? Hunting is dangerous- my dad knows a lot of people who have _died._" Dean looked pale, and his eyes opened really wide with his final pronouncement.

"Do you worry about that, Dean? That something might happen to your dad when he's on a hunt?"

The boy nodded briefly, and took a little sip of tea.

"Sometimes my stomach hurts when I'm worried," Marian said offhandedly, like she wasn't talking about Dean at all, but merely relaying an interesting fact. "The worry is in my head but I feel it in my belly. Isn't that strange?"

The boy nodded, and took another sip from his mug.

They sat there for a while, drinking their tea in an amicable silence.

"I don't want to sleep."

"You can stay up a little longer if you want. Do you want to look at the stars with me?"

Dean shrugged indifferently, but followed her over to the window anyway. Stargazing was girly, but he didn't want to go to bed quite yet.

Marian showed him Caelum and Dorado, tracing their path with her finger through the pane of glass.

"I know it's stupid… but sometimes I think my mom is a star," Dean said quietly, his eyes still fixed on the sky.

"That's not stupid- it's a big universe... and anyone who claims to know all of its secrets is lying."

She showed him Orion and explained that the name translated to 'the great hunter'.

"Do you think my dad is thinking about me and Sammy?" Dean asked suddenly.

"I'm sure you're always in his thoughts, Dean; you and your brother. Do you want to go to sleep? Stargazing always makes me tired for some reason… maybe because it makes you feel so small."

Dean nodded and crawled into bed where Marian proceeded to tuck him in for the third time.

"If you need anything, my room is just at the end of the hall. Goodnight hon."

She flicked off the light, and was just about to shut the door when a low voice echoed her sentiment.

"Nite, Mrs. Breedlove, and... thanks for the tea."


	4. Chapter 4

**Not my characters or show, still just playing**.

The boys' reactions couldn't have been more different as they neared their new school on Monday morning; Sammy started to run, his little shoes flashing with the quick strides while Dean put on his hood and adjusted his backpack, steeling himself for yet another first day.

Marian had woken the boys at a quarter to seven, coaxing them to get dressed and eat their oatmeal before shepherding them out the door. She walked them down the little path, over the clumsy hills and past the fields of cows that seemed to go on forever, to the little brick school house in the middle of town.

After today they would walk with the other farm kids, but this morning they were going early to register the boys and fill out all of the necessary forms for enrolment.

It had been too early to call before they left, but Marian promised they could phone their dad as soon as they got home, and tell him about their first day.

She gave Dean's hand a little squeeze before they entered the gates. Sammy was already clambering up the front steps, but his brother seemed hesitant to enter the building.

"You ready?"

Dean shook his head.

"No one ever is. I worked here for thirty five years, and I never met a new student that wasn't a little nervous."

Taking a deep breath, he followed his little brother inside, with Marian proudly bringing up the rear.

Chatting with the secretaries brought back fond memories of the job she had always loved, and the distraction she credited with helping her through Waylon's death.

She filled in the paperwork with the boys' full names and birthdates, entering the name of the last school they had attended from the list of information John had left behind.

Principal Fallon came out to greet them, shaking hands seriously with the boys before pulling Marian into a warm hug.

"Nice to see you Marian, the place hasn't been the same since you left."

"I've missed you all as well. I'm happy to know that Sam and Dean will be in good hands while they're here. Sam is in first grade, and Dean is in fifth, they've missed a fair bit of school but they're smart boys, and good at catching up."

"Well, you'll be in Miss Harrison's class, Sam, and Dean will join Mr. Lambert and the fifth graders. I'll just have a quick chat with Mrs. Breedlove and then I'll take you to the rooms."

Sam sat outside the secretaries' office, humming the Star Wars theme while swinging his legs which were dangling off the edge of the bench.

"Quit it, Sammy," Dean grunted in irritation; leave it to his little brother to actually be _happy_ about to be at school.

…

"They sure have moved around," the principal commented, as he eyed the boys' transcripts.

Out of necessity Marian had given him a slightly altered version of how she knew John and why the boys were staying with her.

"The little one sure seems excited," he said with a smile, putting down the file and motioning Marian to sit in the wing chair next to his desk.

"Oh, heavens yes. I couldn't get a word in edgewise on the way here; Sammy was talking a mile a minute. He's quite confident, and he's already made a friend with one of the neighbourhood kids… it's Dean I'm a little worried about."

"Oh? Does he have any behavioural problems? A learning disability?"

"No, nothing like that… he's just been going through a difficult time, all the moving around has been hard on him. I just wanted you to know that he might be a bit timid."

"Keith is really good with the shy ones. He's patient and has a good sense of humour- all the kids seem to really like him."

Marian sighed with relief.

Keith Lambert had started teaching the year after she retired, so she didn't know the man at all, but she trusted Richard's opinion; she had worked with him for nearly three decades, and he had won her respect early on.

"He has a bit of a nervous stomach, I wrote it on the medical form. It's nothing serious, but I thought the nurse should be aware."

"Don't worry, Marian. Dean will be just fine."

…

But he wasn't, and neither was Jason Healey.

Marian tried to sound calm when she answered the phone at a quarter to twelve, despite feeling that something wasn't quite right. Waylon had always said that she was psychic, but she'd always explained it away as good instincts. It might have been a combination of the two, and her keen ability to read people didn't hurt either.

"Mrs. Breedlove? This is Keith Lambert calling from Ridgeview elementary. There's been an incident involving Dean and another boy in my class. I was wondering if you could come in."

"Is he okay?" she asked, covering her mouth although there was no one but the cat around to see that it was slightly agape.

"Well… his fist might be a little sore, but I'm confident he will make a full recovery," the man spoke calmly, and had a smile in his voice that put her at ease.

"Dean hit another boy?" she couldn't believe it. She knew John's children were trained in combat, but she couldn't imagine the boy she'd found in the closet the night before throwing punches.

"Why don't we talk about it when you get here? That way Dean can share his side, and we can go from there."

"Okay, I'll be there in a few minutes."

Marian hung up the phone and grabbed her keys, wrapping herself in her warmest shawl as she headed out the door. She didn't drive often, usually preferring to walk, but she wanted to get there quickly, so she fired up the old truck's engine and drove down the road, pressing a little harder on the pedal than was entirely necessary.

The scene outside the principal's office was pretty typical given the situation. Dean sat on the bench with his hands in his lap looking ashamed, while another boy, presumably the injured party, wailed from inside the infirmary.

Mr. Lambert came out to meet her, and led her into Fallon's office.

"Richard's gone to grab a bite to eat, but he said we can use the room. Why don't you sit down, and I'll explain what happened, and then Dean can come in and give us his side of the story."

Marian nodded, glad that the teacher seemed so confident that the matter could be resolved.

"Dean had an altercation on the playground with a classmate, Jason Healey," Mr. Lambert explained.

An 'altercation'-not a fight, not '_Dean punched Jason'_- an _altercation_.

"The noon hour supervisor separated the boys, but unfortunately Jason has a bit of a bloody nose. It doesn't seem too serious, although he's carrying on like he was mortally wounded."

Marian bit her lip and nodded again.

"Dean has been having a bit of a rough time lately. His father is a single parent and Dean and his brother move around a lot, this is his third school this year."

"I understand. Jason can be a bit of a bully, so off the record I feel he got what he deserved," the teacher said with a little smirk, and Marian couldn't help but chuckle.

"Anyway, why don't we bring in the accused? He's sweated it out long enough."

…

There was silence on the drive home. Marian kept her eyes on the road, and Dean leaned his head against the window, watching the houses and fields of cows pass by on fast forward. When they turned into the driveway, she finally spoke.

"I feel like a cup of tea. Why don't you go upstairs and get tidied up while I put the kettle on? Then we can have a talk."

Dean nodded grimly, wiping self consciously at the dirt on his face, and trying to hide the large hole his shirt with his jacket.

_This was it, now he was in for it._

_His dad would be furious to have to come back to Kansas and pick them up, all because he couldn't control his temper._

Slinking back down the stairs a few minutes later, he was surprised to see a little plate of cookies on the table; surely he wouldn't be getting a treat after he'd started a fight and gotten himself suspended on his first day?

"Why did you do it, Dean? Did Jason try and hit you first?"

"No," he fiddled with the sleeve of his clean shirt, unwilling to meet her eye.

"What happened then?"

"Nothing."

"So you just went up to this boy and hit him for no reason?"

"Yeah," Dean's voice sounded tired, like it had taken a lot of effort just to get that one little word out.

"I don't believe that. You're a nice kid, Dean. I don't believe you would hit someone else for no reason. You didn't tell your teacher, and that's okay, but you can tell me- I won't tell anyone. Not even your dad," she added.

Dean paused and studied Marian for a moment, considering her words.

"I had to read in class. Mr. Lambert calls on people that don't raise their hands… and I kept messing up. Jason laughed at me during lunch, he called me a retard."

Marian nodded understandingly.

"That wasn't nice. It's hard to be put on the spot like that, and have to read aloud."

Dean nodded in agreement.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked, puzzled at how calmly she was speaking. His dad would be yelling by now, and taking off his belt.

"Not exactly... You punched Jason, so I want you to write the boy a letter saying you're sorry. And the henhouse hasn't been cleaned for a while; I thought maybe you could give the chickens an early Christmas present."

Dean nodded; it seemed reasonable.

"You've got two days of suspension and you're already pretty far behind. Mr. Lambert gave me copies of the class assignments for the week, so you can work on those while your brother's at school. I think that's all, Dean."

"I'm sorry," he blurted. "I just got mad- it won't happen again, I promise."

"I believe you Dean. Now why don't we have some cookies and then you can start on the henhouse?"

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Rated: PG 13 (no language in this one, but that may change in the next part)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This story is just for my amusement.**

**Summary: Wee!chesters (Sam is six, Dean is ten) The pressures of the hunting life affect Dean. The boys stay with a family friend and get a taste of normalcy.**

Sam was a little surprised to see Dean waiting for him when he arrived home from school.

"Where were you? Jacob and I waited outside for you for ages and ages after the bell rang!"

Dean avoided his brother's eyes. He was filthy from cleaning the henhouse, and he still had to write a letter apologizing to that idiot, Jason, before he started on the mountain of homework waiting on the desk upstairs; luckily his silence seemed to speak for itself.

"You got in a fight."

Sam's words weren't accusatory and they didn't sound disappointed, he was merely stating a fact. Dean shrugged in reply, and Sammy proceeded to tell him every single thing that had happened to him since he'd last seen his brother.

"Jacob's in my class, and three other new friends, and we all hung out at lunch. Miss Harrison said I was a good reader, and during gym we got to play dodge ball!"

Dean smiled at his little brother's enthusiasm, and the idea of first graders 'hanging out'; clearly he and Sam had once again had very different first day experiences. Sam ran into the kitchen to find Marian, while Dean slipped upstairs for a shower.

"Can we call my dad now?" Sam wanted to know.

"Once your brother is finished washing up," she promised, patting Sammy fondly on the head.

"Why don't you tell me about your day while we wait?" Marian suggested, pouring a glass of milk to go with Sam's cookie.

The little boy's face split into a big grin, and it was off to the races.

…

The phone call was brief and uncomfortable.

Marian spoke to John first, telling him that the boys had started school and were doing just fine. She omitted the story of Dean's suspension, unwilling to break the boy's confidence in her. He'd made a mistake, but it had been dealt with, and John was too far away to improve the situation, all he could do was be angry.

Sammy repeated the recap of his first day at breakneck speed, moving on to ask his dad about the sasquatches and whether or not he had made a snowman. Sam listened intently to his father's responses, bangs flopping in his eyes as he gave nods which the man couldn't see.

"Dean got in a fight, but he's okay," Sammy finished brightly, handing the phone to his brother and wandering into the sitting room to pet the cat.

…

It was a quiet supper that night.

Marian had made her famous shepherd's pie, but no one but Sammy seemed to have much appetite.

"May I be excused?" Dean asked quietly after a few mouthfuls.

"You aren't hungry after all your hard work this afternoon?" Marian asked, her voice laced with concern.

The boy was already thin and sickly looking, and his father had mentioned he'd lost weight recently. Marian had assumed he would fill out on a steady diet of home cooked meals, but maybe she had been naïve to think that shepherd's pie could repair whatever was ailing Dean.

"My stomach hurts."

He was hunched over a little in his chair, and Sammy looked at his brother worriedly.

"Is it because I told dad about the fight?" he asked, his lip trembling as he waited for his brother's response.

"You can't give somebody a stomach ache, stupid," Dean told his brother angrily.

_Leave it to Sammy to let the cat out of the bag. _

_Mrs. Breedlove had kept his secret, and his own brother had tattled on him; when he had never been anything but a good big brother to Sam- protective and patient, playing baby games to make him happy, and answering his zillions of questions. _

"Dean, don't call your brother stupid," Marian admonished, giving him a look that left no room for anything but an apology.

"I'm sorry, Sammy… I should have told you not to say anything before we called. I was just… dad was really mad. I don't want him to be distracted while he's hunting," he said quietly.

Sammy nodded, seeming to accept this apology as he shovelled more potatoes into his mouth.

…

Sam was passed out by seven thirty, exhausted from his whirlwind third-first day of grade one. Marian tucked the quilt snugly around his little shoulders, smiling at the contented little sigh Sam gave in his sleep.

She could see that Sammy was thriving in the consistent atmosphere, the regular meals and bedtime, and the chance to play with kids his own age, and she wished for a moment that the boys would finish the school year in town.

Turning off the light, she gently closed the door and headed into the sitting room. Dean was sitting on the couch, absentmindedly stroking her old tomcat Harold as he stared into space.

"How are you feeling, hon? Do you want some tea?"

The boy shook his head, and Marian tucked an afghan around his shoulders.

"Your dad wasn't really angry, Dean, he just wants you to be happy. You know that right?"

Dean snorted and shook his head in disbelief; his father shouted when he was angry, and he'd been hollering so loudly that Dean had had to hold the phone away from his head to keep from going deaf.

"He _was_ angry, and he _should _be… I'm always messing up."

He looked so sad sitting there in the dark huddled under the blanket, and Marian wanted nothing more than to gather him up in her arms, to soothe his pain.

"That's not true, Dean. You help your father out a lot with Sammy; not many ten year olds would be as patient as you are with a first grader."

"I was mean to him at dinner, I almost made him cry."

"We all make mistakes, hon. It's what we do the rest of the time that matters, and we both know you're a good brother. Sammy is lucky to have you."

Dean shrugged at burrowed further under the afghan. It had been crocheted by a lady at her church, Violet Meier, a kind soul who was pushing ninety, her sight starting to give out, possibly explaining the wild neon greens and oranges that made up the trippy sunburst pattern.

"Do you want a snack before bed? You hardly touched your dinner."

Dean shook his head as she had expected him to, and she sat down next to him on the couch, giving Harold a few pats before putting her arm around the boy.

…

Marian woke up to the squeak of the stairs as Sammy trouped down for breakfast. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, still wearing her clothes from the day before, and her spine felt slightly misaligned from the lack of lumbar support.

"Dean threw up. Can we make French toast?"

"Okay hon, why don't you go get ready for school and I'll check on your brother, then we can make French toast."

Dean wasn't in his room or Sammy's, so she listened at the bathroom door for a moment, only to hear the telltale sounds of retching from inside.

Opening the door she was beside him instantly, wetting a facecloth under the tap for his neck and feeling his forehead for signs of a fever.

Dean continued to dry heave, as she sat there helplessly patting his back. Sam came in, dressed in a pair of holey jeans and a shirt emblazoned with a superhero she couldn't name. Sam came over and placed a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"It's okay Dean. I'm here, and so's Mrs. Breedlove and you'll get to miss school, even though you already are…" Sammy paused awkwardly, clearly not wanting to revisit the topic of his brother's suspension.

"Are you okay Dean? Do you want to borrow my Aquaman?"

Dean finally leaned back against the tub, shaking his head as he took a deep breath. _He must look pretty wretched if Sammy was offering up his prized possession._

Marian set Dean up in the sitting room, with a bucket and a pillow and the afghan tucked around his shoulders. She and Sammy waited a few minutes for him to fall asleep before tiptoeing into the kitchen.

"Is Dean going to die?"

Marian turned to look at the little boy; his expression was grave, despite the liberal amount of powdered sugar on his lips, and his eyebrows had furrowed as he braced himself for the answer."

"Of course not, honey. He just isn't feeling well. Sometimes you get sick, but eventually you feel better, right?"

"But he's been sick for a while… and he even went to the doctor's and everything, even though dad doesn't like to take us to the doctor's… and he's different than he used to be, he's always sad, even when we're playing a game, or I try to make him laugh."

"Your brother just needs to rest, Sam. He'll get better with time," Marian promised, silently hoping that she was telling the truth.

TBC

AN: Just had a particularly crappy day at work (not sure if writing depressing fan fiction will help in that department, but I figured why not?) Please review! (I see how many of you are reading…)


	6. Chapter 6

**Rated: PG 13 (no language in this one, but that may change in the next part)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This story is just for my amusement.**

**Summary: Wee!chesters (Sam is six, Dean is ten) The pressures of the hunting life affect Dean. The boys stay with a family friend and get a taste of normalcy.**

Dean's temperature had risen a degree every hour since Sammy had left for school, stubbornly refusing to respond to cool baths or Tylenol; at eleven o'clock, Marian coaxed the boy's feet into their boots and helped him into his jacket.

He followed her obediently to the truck, stumbling a little, despite the lack of snow. She buckled him in and he fell asleep almost immediately, his head lolling to one side and his features relaxing.

He was harder to wake and staggered feverishly through the parking lot when they reached the doctor's office, and Marian knew she had made the right decision to bring him in; Dean's body needed to be well before he tackled any emotional problems.

Sitting in the waiting room with Dean leaning against her, shivering and half asleep, brought her back to the days of Jeremy's childhood when she had been a new parent. Mesmerised by the perfect little person they had created, she and Waylon had taken their little boy to see the paediatrician often- more often than not for reassurance that the illness was normal and would pass on its own with rest and fluids and a little TLC.

She was more confident caring for a child now given her age and experience, and she'd always been good at listening to her intuition. She knew that John loved his boys and wanted what was best for them, but she also knew that he'd been afflicted with a bad case of tunnel vision since Mary's death; revenge and killing evil were the primary thoughts in his head at any given time.

"Dean Winchester? Dr. Carter will see you now," chirped the perky blonde receptionist after they'd been waiting less than fifteen minutes. That was the nice thing about small towns- it was easier to get in spur of the moment which was usually when calamities liked to occur.

Dr. Carter was a pleasant woman in her early fifties and the room was bright and more cheerful than the typical utilitarian doctor's office.

Marian helped Dean sit down in the chair next to the desk before settling herself into the seat next to it.

"The nurse said he had a fever and abdominal pain?"

"That's right. The upset stomach has been off and on for a couple of weeks, but he threw up this morning for the first time, and the fever started a few hours ago. His dad took him to a doctor about his stomach…"

Marian paused, looking at Dean who was completely asleep, his head listing to one side. She lowered her voice anyhow and leaned toward the doctor.

"The other doctor thought it was anxiety. He's had a hard life- his mother died when he was very young, and he's been responsible for his little brother a lot. His father's is… in the military, and they move around frequently; he's changed schools more times than I can count."

Dr. Carter nodded understandingly, "How is his appetite?"

"He eats like a bird. Didn't use to, but his father says he's lost quite a bit of weight since all of this started… he won't eat breakfast or lunch, picks at his dinner. I'm surprised he hasn't gotten ill before this."

"Any vomiting, diarrhea…?"

"Just when he threw up this morning, as far as I know, he's quiet though, I doubt he would come and tell; Dean's a tough kid who doesn't complain much."

The doctor noted and scribbled something down on her pad.

"Can you wake him?"

Marian put a hand on Dean's shoulder and gently woke him up. He groaned a little, and blinked his eyes against the light, but allowed her to take of his jacket and help him onto the little cot by the desk.

Dr. Carter gave him a cursory examination, taking his temperature by ear and frowning at the number that appeared. She felt the glands around his neck, and palpated his abdomen.

"Thank you for being so cooperative, Dean. I know you aren't feeling well, but do you think you could answer a few questions?"

Dean nodded, his face was pale and he looked miserable.

"Your tummy's been hurting for a while now; does it feel the same or different today?"

Dean paused for a minute, and looked rather accusingly at Marian as if she had divulged a great secret.

"Same."

"And this morning was the only time you threw up."

He nodded.

"Any pain when you pick something heavy up? Or when you go to the bathroom?"

He shook his head.

"Do you wake up at night because of the pain?"

He paused for a moment, before shaking his head.

She made a few quick notes on her chart before turning back to the boy.

"Thanks for your help, Dean. I just wanted to make sure I have all the information, you can go back to sleep now, if you want."

Dean's eyes shut gratefully, and the doctor turned back to Marian.

"There's a bug going around, the nursing home is under quarantine and a lot of school children are getting it too. Nasty stomach virus, but it usually passes in a few days; the main thing is to watch out for dehydration. If he can't keep down any fluids and stops urinating you'll need to take him to the ER for an IV. If the fever climbs any further or he seems to worsen, it's time to go to the hospital."

Marian nodded. She'd dealt with stomach bugs before, and was just relieved it wasn't appendicitis or something more serious.

"The stomach aches he's been having could be stress-related, but I'd like to run some more tests once he's feeling a bit better to rule anything out. Should I book him an appointment for next week?"

Marian nodded again glad the woman wasn't dismissing Dean's pain as a nervous stomach or nothing to worry about. His problems had been ignored by too many people for too long- it was time to get to the root of the issue.

"Try and get him eating bland foods once the vomiting stops. Toast, rice, applesauce… the usual sick kid menu. Not eating has made his body weaker, and less able to fight off illnesses."

The doctor handed her an appointment card and stood up to shake her hand. Marian thanked her and gently woke Dean and slipped his arms back into the sleeves of his coat.

…

Sammy burst in the door at quarter after three, kicking off his shoes and dropping his backpack onto the stairs.

"Hi, hon. How was school?" Marian asked, speaking quietly and pointing to the couch where Dean was asleep.

"Good, I got picked second for dodge ball at recess, and I got all ten words right on my spelling test," he said in an exaggerated whisper.

"You're a smart boy, Sammy, and kind too- that's why the other kids want you on their team," she told him.

He beamed at the praise, and she wondered how often John told him what a great kid he was.

"I thought it was because I'm good at dodging."

"That too. How about a snack?"

Sam nodded and followed her into the kitchen, looking over his shoulder at his brother's sleeping form.

"Is Dean okay?" he asked worriedly once he was settled at the table with a cookie and glass of milk.

"He's got the stomach flu, but he's going to be just fine in a couple of days," Marian assured him. She was surprised at the usually upbeat child's worry for his brother, and wondered if he was picking up on her and John's own concerns about Dean.

"In North Dakota one of the kids in my class threw up at _school._ He had to sit next to the trash can until his mom came and got him."

Marian feigned shock with a theatrical gasp at the story, and Sam giggled and took another bite of cookie, seeming satisfied that everything was okay.

…

John called that evening, and after talking to Sammy for a while asked to speak with Marian.

"The hunt isn't taking as long as Hammond thought it would; we've just got to comb the lower ridge another time to make sure none of the young ones escaped, but I'll probably be back in Kansas sooner than I thought."

"The boys will be happy to hear that," she said after a brief pause, knowing the boys would be happy to see their dad, but would also have to face another upheaval.

"How's Dean? Sammy said he was sleeping."

"Stomach flu- he's been in the bathroom most of the day, poor guy. He's exhausted."

"I hope I wasn't too hard on him the other night… I just don't like to see them abusing their training like that. I can't afford for him to draw attention to himself like that- a few fights leads to parent teacher meetings, and people asking too many questions… it could be trouble for us."

"He was a little upset, but he's over it now. I was wondering… I know you like to keep on the move, but I thought maybe you and the boys would like to stay for Christmas…?"

John didn't answer right away, and Marian could picture him weighing the pros and cons of staying somewhere not because of a hunt. Sammy was thrilled about school, but it might just make it harder for him when they inevitably moved on. Dean was having a hard time, but he didn't know that giving in to the boy's sensitivities was the solution.

"I'll think about it."

…

"Hon, do you want to try and eat something?" Marian asked, coming into the sitting room to check on Dean.

He'd slept through his father's call and dinner, and now Sammy was in bed.

He shrugged, but followed her into the kitchen where she put some slices of bread into the toaster and put the kettle on.

"Your father called while you were sleeping, he might be back sooner than he had expected."

Dean sat up a little straighter in his chair, leaning towards the older woman, trying to read her face to exact whatever details she wasn't sharing.

"Is he okay?"

"He's fine. He's sorry you aren't feeling well."

He looked at the table breaking their brief moment of eye contact.

_His dad must think he's acting like a baby._

_He was supposed to be the big brother, but lately he felt so small._

The kettle whistled shrilly at the exact moment the toast popped up and he jumped, startled out of his reverie.

"The doctor wants to see you again next week, about your stomach."

Dean took a small drink of tea but said nothing, looking disinterestedly at the piece of toast she placed in front of him.

"Maybe tomorrow you can start on the work Mr. Lambert gave you- if you're feeling a bit better."

Dean shrugged, the book he was supposed to read was really thick, and the print was so tiny it would take him forever to finish it. _He was too stupid to understand the math_- Sammy was the brainy one, not him.

"I could help you out, if you want…" Marian offered.

"Maybe."

"If you want someone else to help you, there's a boy in high school that does tutoring- he lives right down the street."

"I'll think about it," he said in a final sort of way that said the conversation was over.

…

Marian padded up the stairs in her nightgown holding her favourite mug full of herbal tea; she paused at the top, hearing giggling down the hall. Poking her head into Sammy's room, the bed was empty, the blankets mussed where the little boy had clearly 'untucked' himself.

Checking on Dean, she wasn't surprised to see two little bodies under the quilt, shaking with mirth as they shared a private joke.

She opened her mouth to tell Sammy that Dean needed his rest, and then thought better of it; the boys were happy, and sometimes laughter was the best medicine.

TBC

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate reviews, so please take a minute to comment if you're enjoying the story.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This story is just for my amusement.**

**Summary: Wee!chesters (Sam is six, Dean is ten) The pressures of the hunting life affect Dean. The boys stay with a family friend and get a taste of normalcy.**

The next day Dean was feeling a bit better, the colour hadn't come back to his cheeks, but he wasn't vomiting and even came down downstairs asking for cereal around noon.

"How about toast? Your tummy probably isn't ready for milk yet," Marian said, popping a few slices of bread into the toaster. She was glad he was hungry, a return of appetite was always a good sign, particularly since Dean hadn't been eating much lately.

"Did my dad say when he would be back?"

"He didn't give a date, but he said that he thought the hunt would be finished sooner than he thought. We can call him tonight- how does that sound?"

Dean nodded absently, sipping a glass of juice through a bendy straw.

"How's the homework coming? I saw you moved your papers to the desk upstairs- I've got a lamp in the closet I'll move in for you, sometimes it's a little dark in that room."

"I did some of the math…"

_After reading two whole extra sections of the textbook to catch up from the part where his last class had been at._

"And the reading…?"

Dean shook his head.

"It's long… and I don't really get it," he admitted eyes downcast. "I'm too stupid."

Marian came around and gave him a hug.

"That's not true hon, and you know it."

He buried his face in her sweater, his shoulders shaking from the sobs he'd held in for so long. They sat there quietly for a while, Marian rubbing Dean's back as he wept.

"Maybe we could read it together."

"What's the point? We'll be gone soon anyway," Dean said, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his pyjamas. His voice was squeaky, but the familiar air of toughness had returned and she could tell he was a little embarrassed for crying.

"Maybe you'll be staying longer than you think," Marian said, mentally promising to have another conversation with John.

…

Dean hadn't needed much help with the math- the class was doing a unit on fractions and once Marian illustrated one of the problems with piles of rock salt, it was as if a light went off in the boy's head

"This might actually be useful," he muttered, raking the salt back into a pile with the pocket knife.

The reading was more difficult- Marian had read the first page aloud and then handed the book to Dean.

"Your turn."

"You want me to read out loud?" Dean's voice was a little uneasy, and Marian knew they'd hit a sore spot.

"If you have to read in front of the class, it's good to practice," she said gently, letting him know he could refuse if he wanted to.

"Jason made fun of my reading."

"I know- and that wasn't nice, but don't let that stop you from trying, Dean. We all have our natural talents, and some things we have to work a little harder at.

He nodded, picking up the paperback and leaning back in his bed.

"And just for the record, Jason Healey wouldn't stand a chance sparring with you, or wrestling- you're a born fighter, your daddy told me so."

Dean gave her a little smile and started to read; he stumbled a lot, getting tripped up by the longer words and having to reread sentences to grasp the meaning. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he finished the page.

"Sammy can read better than me, and he's in the first grade."

"Your brother has a knack for language- that's one of _his_ natural talents. You're on the road so much, changing schools, it's no wonder you're having a tough time with this. It just takes practice, like your training. Could you hit the bull's-eye the first time you fired a rifle?"

Dean thought back to the first time his father had let him shoot a gun; he'd been really nervous, palms sweating, and almost fell over from the kickback. But after months of practice and coaching from his father he had slowly improved; now he made every shot he lined up, and could even hit a moving target.

"No… it took a lot of practice."

"Reading's the same- the more you practice the better you get."

Dean nodded, covering a yawn with his hand.

"Why don't you have a little sleep, and we'll finish the chapter later."

…

Marian called John after dinner as promised, frowning as the phone went straight to his voicemail.

"He must be out on a hunt, turned his phone off," she said in a bright voice that didn't even fool Sammy.

"Is daddy hurt?" Sam asked his brother, looking worried.

"I don't know, maybe," Dean was lying on the couch wrapped in the afghan again, after having a small bowl of soup for dinner.

"C'mon Sammy, how about I run your bath now- you want to go get Aquaman? We'll try your daddy again in the morning."

Sam paused, looking to Dean who gave a slight nod.

"Only if you come too," Sam said after another long pause.

His brother nodded and they all trooped up the stairs, Sammy dashing into his room to grab an armful of action figures.

"Make sure there's room for you too," Marian said with a laugh.

Pretty soon the little boy was splashing away in a foamy sea of bubbles, the adventures of Aquaman distracting him from any worries about John. Dean sat on the toilet, the afghan still around his shoulders, looking small and sad, but managing a smile whenever his brother looked his way.

After Sam was asleep, Marian sat in the rocker beside Dean's bed.

"What's wrong, hon? Are you scared something happened to your dad?"

Dean shook his head, rolling over to face the wall.

_He was a Winchester, and Winchesters were never afraid._

"I think I should sleep in Sammy's room tonight- just in case he wakes up scared."

"He's already sleeping- you'll wake him up if you go in. How about if I hear him get up I'll come and get you?"

Dean shrugged, sitting up so that he was hugging his knees to his chest, a grimace on his lips.

"Is it your stomach again?"

Dean nodded, and Marian went into the bathroom to raid the medicine cabinet. She poured some pink liquid into a measuring spoon and gave it to Dean.

"I made you an appointment to see the doctor again on Monday, try and find out what's giving you so much pain."

"I'll be fine, I don't need to go the doctor's."

_Doctors were expensive, and he'd already seen one with his dad who said there was nothing wrong with him. He was just being a baby- only babies cried and made a big deal out of nothing. His dad didn't have time for babies._

"She just wants to make sure there's nothing wrong with your belly, Dean. You're losing weight- that's not a good sign."

"If I don't eat my stomach doesn't hurt as bad."

"Well, you need to tell her that on Monday so she can make you better."

"My dad wants me to be tough, he doesn't want me if I'm sick."

"Your dad loves you Dean, he just wants you to be healthy, not to be in pain."

…

Early that morning Marian woke, hearing some movement down the hall. Figuring Sammy was up, she padded down the hall in her slippers to find him sleeping soundly, snuggled under the quilt clutching a plastic Ninja Turtle.

Dean wasn't in his bed, knocking on the door to the bathroom she got no answer, so she turned the handle. A small, pyjama clad figure sat rocking on the floor, arms clutched around his stomach as silent tears coasted down his cheeks.

She didn't ask him what was wrong, just knelt down beside him putting an arm around him and leading him down the hall to her bedroom.

"It's going to be okay, Dean. I promise."

…

After an urgent call to the paediatrician, Marian was relieved to have Dean's appointment moved up to that morning. Bundling up both boys, they took the truck, dropping Sam off at the elementary school on their way into town.

"Can we try my dad again when we get back?" Dean asked quietly. His face was ghostly pale and he was hunched over in his seat, his mouth a tight line of pain.

"Sure hon, anything you want."

The clinic was just opening when they arrived, and the doctor saw them almost immediately, taking vials and vials of blood as Dean lay stoically on the table, his eyes fixed on the brown water stain above his head.

"How long has your stomach been hurting, Dean?" the doctor asked gently.

She'd been in the profession for many years and was pretty good at discerning the malingerers from the genuinely ill, and she had already pegged Dean as the latter. The previous physician had really dropped the ball on this one, and she was determined to find out what was wrong.

"Uh, I don't know- a while now."

"Is it worse after meals?"

Dean nodded, and Dr Carter figured it was best to ask yes or no questions since her patient was less than forthcoming.

"Do you throw up, apart from the last few days when you had the flu?"

Dean shook his head.

"Any diarrhea?"

Dean shrugged, looking embarrassed, and the doctor made a note on her pad that Marian couldn't decipher upside down.

"I'm going to send your blood samples to the lab, we'll call you when the results are in and schedule a follow up."

…

Dean was quiet in the car, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his parka and gazing out the window.

"You were brave in there, Dean. I hate blood tests, but you handled that like a pro."

Dean shrugged off her words; _his dad was brave, and so was Bobby- but not him._

…

The call came just after supper the following day, Sammy was eating a bowl of apple crumble and Dean was curled up on the couch. He hadn't thrown up in over twenty four hours, but still wasn't feeling well. He'd nibbled a corner of toast earlier, and Marian had coaxed him into drinking some Gatorade, but apart from that he wasn't really eating.

"This is Dr. Carter from Valley Ridge Medical, you need to bring Dean to the Children's hospital in Kansas City- it's urgent."

Marian was afraid for Dean- and John and Sammy by extension.

She didn't know if the little family could handle any more tragedy.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8

Standard disclaimers and warnings apply.

Sorry for the delay- real life is kicking my ass lately. Hope this is worth the wait.

Dean looked away as the nurse started the IV in his arm, pointing to Sammy who was lying on the little cot next to his bed. Marian covered the little boy with a blanket and returned to her seat by the bed. She had wanted to drop him off at Jacob's house before driving Dean to Kansas City, but the Sammy had adamantly refused to be left behind.

She hadn't told the boys what Dr. Carter had said on the phone, not wanting to alarm them, just that Dean needed some tests done that could only be done in a bigger hospital. Dean had been whisked away for a CT scan as soon as they'd arrived, and she'd spent the better part of an hour on the payphone trying to reach John.

Sam had asked a lot of questions she couldn't answer- wanting to know exactly what was wrong with his brother and how long he would be in the hospital, when his dad would be back and whether they'd still be in Kansas for Christmas.

Dean was put through a battery of tests that evening, dozing off and on as he was wheeled to different departments to be poked and prodded and connected to equipment he didn't know the function of. He didn't talk much, only asking once if his father was on his way.

"He'll be here as soon as he can," was all she could think to say.

…

"Wake up honey, your breakfast is here."

Dean surveyed the lidded tray suspiciously, and was annoyed to find only apple juice inside. His stomach still hurt, but he wouldn't have minded something small to eat. He looked to the little cot where Sammy was still asleep, and then to the empty chair beside where Marian had spent the night. His dad still wasn't there.

"The nurse said they're doing a test later to see inside your belly, so you can't have any food," she explained, seeing his look of disgust.

"Sammy's missing school," Dean stated, giving the older woman a little look.

"He wants to be with his big brother, besides it's only for today, I'll see he goes tomorrow," she promised.

"Okay. Can we call my dad?"

"Sure, hon."

She didn't expect an answer, and was surprised to hear the call actually go through, ringing a few times before John picked up.

"Marian- how's Dean? I got your messages this morning, spent the night on the mountain, couldn't get any reception. I'm headed back to Kansas, should be there in a little over an hour."

"He's okay right now, we're at the hospital and they're running a bunch of tests. Misses his daddy though, they both do."

"What did the doctor say?"

Marian quietly stepped into the hall before answering, "He's really anemic, and his white count is too high. They've ruled a few things out, but still aren't exactly sure what's wrong."

"Does that mean he has cancer?" John asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the woman's answer.

"The doctor just said it indicated inflammation- she didn't say anything about cancer."

"But she didn't say that it wasn't?"

…

Marian couldn't help but sigh with relief when John Winchester strode into his son's room, heading right to the bed and kissing his older boy on the top of the head. Her eyes misted a little at the rare sign of affection, and she stood up and told John she was going on a coffee run.

Sam ran over to his father, talking a mile a minute as he was wrapped into a big hug.

"What happened to your hand?" Dean asks a few minutes, later pointing to the thick layer of bandages his father is sporting.

"Just a little souvenir from the Rockies, speaking of which-" he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small leather pouch which he hands to Sammy.

"Cool! A sasquatch claw!" the little boy says happily, slipping the leather thong over his head and tucking the talon underneath his sweater.

"There's one for your brother too," John grinned at the little boy's excitement before turning to his eldest and fastening a chain around his neck.

"It's St. Christopher," he explained, seeing Dean's puzzled expression.

"He's the patron saint of travellers. You've been on a rough journey lately, I thought it might help. Your mom always wore one," he added softly, surprised to suddenly find himself blinking back tears. Usually he managed to keep his grief over his wife's death reigned back by anger and vengeance; it was only through his sons that the sadness crept through, when he looked at his children and caught a glimpse of Mary- vibrant and hopeful, so alive.

"Thanks dad," Dean held onto the piece of silver for a long while before tucking it into the neck of his gown.

…

Dean slept.

Marian came back with John's coffee, and the two chatted for a while before she told Sam it was time to go. The boy put up a bit of a fuss, but hunger prevailed when she promised him grilled cheese at home.

The doctor comes in later and repeats what Marian has already told him, mentioning the anemia and the white cell count and some tests- scientific words ending in 'oscopy' and 'opsy'- that Dean needs to have.

John is polite when he insists on accompanying his son for the procedures.

He is firmly told that it's against hospital policy and Dean will be in good hands and not to worry.

John strongly advises the doctor to reconsider, and ten minutes later finds himself in a sterilized room watching his son have a hose rammed down his throat, and wondering if arguing with the hospital policy was really a good idea.

…

Dean wakes up fuzzy and confused, allowing John to feed him ice chips in a rare display of helplessness. The nurse, Sheila, gives him some throat spray and injects something into his iv to help him sleep.

It's getting late and he's been awake for more than one sunset, but John isn't tired. He watches his son with adrenalin coursing through his body, preparing his body for battle.

But there's nothing to chase, nothing to kill, and eventually his eyes grow heavy and he leans back in his chair, hand still clasped around his sleeping son's.


	9. Chapter 9

Standard disclaimers apply.

The new day begins when the night nurse goes home to sleep- at least that's how it feels to Dean. A curtain blocks the street from view, and he hasn't got a watch, so a new nurse is like a rooster crow.

His dad is still asleep, head on shoulder, unmoved from the bedside chair and he relaxes at the sight, comforted that the man is still with him.

A nurse, the large matronly one this time, plunks down his breakfast tray with a grunt that might have been 'good morning'. John startles awake, his hand automatically reaching for his knife before he remembers where he is, and that the disruption is not sasquatch-related.

"Looks like you got some real food today buddy," John says, lifting the lid to expose a gelatinous yellow mound that is probably eggs, and a limp piece of toast.

"Yum," Dean replies with little expression. He isn't sure that this meal qualifies as 'real food', but he doesn't want to ruin his dad's good mood so he manages to eat most of the eggs and a few bites of toast. The doctor comes in surrounded by a gaggle of interns just as he is putting the lid back on his partially eaten breakfast.

"Good morning, I've got Dean's test results here- I hope you don't mind if a few students are present while I tell you the results?"

John shook his head dismissively, wanting to forgo pleasantries in favour of some real answers.

"The tests show bleeding and inflammation in portions of the large and small intestines."

"What does that mean? Does he have an ulcer? Or cancer?" John asked, and Dean thought his father sounded scared; except his father was never scared.

"With the test results and the symptoms Dean's been having- I'm fairly certain that your son has Crohn's Disease."

John felt like he'd been bowled over by an invisible force, which was not an unheard of event in the life of a hunter, but this time it was merely the shock of the news that his son was so sick.

"Uh… what exactly is that?" he finally asked rather sheepishly, realizing he was imagining all kinds of horrible scenarios without any solid facts.

The doctor explained about pain, fever and diarrhea all being caused by inflammation and a heightened immune response, and then began talking about medications to control the illness and possible surgery down the line.

John nodded periodically throughout the explanation, hearing but not processing or retaining the litany of terms and statistics spouted by the physician.

"Could I die?"

The doctor, all but forgetting the boy in the bed was listening, finally turned to Dean and addressed him directly.

…

Marian pulled into her old parking space at the elementary school, dropping off the youngest Winchester before making the drive back to the hospital.

"I don't want to go, I want to go see Dean and daddy," Sam said when she unbuckled his seatbelt.

"You're going to go play at Jacob's house after school- his mom even said you can rent a movie," Marian added, trying not to look directly into the sad puppy dog eyes that Sam was currently sporting.

"But I have to be with Dean- he's really sick. He'd never leave me if I was sick- he's my brother, and he needs me."

"Your Daddy or I will be with him the whole time."

"But he needs his Sammy."

Marian made the mistake of looking at Sam's face at that moment, and seeing the little boy's eyes welling up with tears she relented. So much for the 'consistent routine' she'd been hoping to introduce the brothers to- but the Winchesters weren't like most brothers, more often than not they were all each other had.

Marian went into the office and exchanged a few brief words with the principal, and five minutes later they were on the road to Kansas City. Sam played the dashboard like a drum as 'Nothing Else Matters' came through the speakers, and Mrs. Breedlove paused to consider that breaking the rules was sometimes better than playing by them.

…

"All of them?" Dean asked, looking in the paper cup filled with pills.

"I'm afraid so. It's a lot of medication, but once you're guts are healing the doctor will probably cancel some of them or put you on something else," the nurse explained gently.

All the information that followed the diagnosis was a bit overwhelming, but Dean was trying to be brave like he knew his father would be. He knew it didn't make sense medically, but he was certain that the pain had let up a bit as soon as his dad had come into his hospital room.

John had gone to get a coffee and something to eat from the cafeteria at the nurse's suggestion- he'd felt a little dizzy after doctor's news about Dean, and he knew that his son was picking up on his anxiousness. He needed a little time to collect himself so that he could be strong for Dean- for all of them. He ate a greasy order of fish and chips followed by a giant slab of apple pie, savouring each bite as he thought about his next move. The meal was a last hurrah of sorts, since he knew the family's menu would have to change drastically when Dean came home.

The boys would have to eat better- no more truck stop greasy spoons or M&Ms for breakfast- Dean's sensitive system couldn't handle rich foods, and he needed to be on a special diet. A few vegetables wouldn't hurt Sammy either.

Stability was not something his sons were used to, but the family was going to need to stay put, at least for a while. Dean needed a consistent environment- no more nights spent sleeping in the impala as they sped off to the next godforsaken little town, no more days spent locked in a dirty motel room while John chased after some baddie in the forest miles away.

He needed rest and good food, he needed medication. He needed family.

John wished for the millionth time that Mary was still alive. She was a natural mother and had never looked more beautiful to him than on the day his oldest son was born.

Dean, swaddled in a blanket, had fit perfectly in her arms, and John had been in awe of the bond that immediately formed amongst the three of them. In that instant he had felt that they were finally a family, and knew that he would protect them with every fibre of his being.

But that hadn't happened, and Mary was gone.

He still hadn't accepted it, but it was true. Dean was still alive, and his father vowed to do whatever necessary to get him well.

Maybe he wasn't at peace with the manner of his wife's death, but he had to put the anger aside, at least for a little while- his kids needed him. He had to be present in body and spirit- not off chasing ghosts of a past that could never be resurrected.

Draining the mug of coffee, battery acid strong- meant to fuel double shifts and fool a body into wakefulness- he headed back to his son's room to start a new chapter.

…

Sam had lots of questions about 'Gnome's disease', and John was pleased to hear his eldest answering them calmly yet matter-of-factly; he was taking this a whole lot better than his old man was, that was for sure.

"And you have to take medicine?"

Dean nodded, shrugging his shoulders embarrassedly when Marian smiled at all of his brother's questions; no wonder Sam was so full of random facts and statistics.

"And you can't have junk food?" Sam asked worriedly, as if this was truly cause for alarm.

"Just not right away. Dean can try what he wants once he's feeling better, and see what makes him sick. In the meantime we're _all_ going to start eating better- no more diners," John said.

The boys looked puzzled.

"Then what will we eat?!" Sam asked anxiously. _Surely his father wouldn't let them starve?_

"I'm going to cook."

"Really?" Sam looked a bit doubtful, but he didn't say anything more about it, another question having popped into his head.

"If- if the medication doesn't work…?" Sam trailed off and didn't finish his thought, examining the Velcro strips on his shoes instead, hands fisted around bunches of the blanket on the extra cot.

"Dean's going to live a long life, just like you are Sammy. Crohn's disease isn't fatal."

"What's fatal?"

"It means I won't die from it," Dean explained readily, this having been the only real answer he'd wanted to know.

"Oh. That's good."

"Yeah."

…

Dean spent ten days in the hospital being fed intravenously while the doctor tried to get his cocktail of medication just right.

John and Marian took turns staying with Sammy, but the commute the Kansas City and lack of sleep was exhausting and beginning to wear on the little family; Dean wanted to go home, and Sam missed his brother terribly.

"Can I-"

"Go home today?" the doctor finished his sentence for him; they'd had the same conversation every day for the last week

Dean nodded. He was still thin, but the colour was coming back to his cheeks, and his energy was improving as his blood counts rose.

"Yes, you can. But you have an appointment with Dr. Carter next week, to see how you're doing, okay?"

Dean nodded; closing his eyes as the doctor carefully removed his IVs and disconnected the monitors. As soon as he was free from the equipment, Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood with his father's help.

"Slow down, buddy, what's the hurry?" John asked, as Dean started stuffing clothes into his duffel.

"I just want to be back at home with you and Sammy and Mrs. Breedlove. I want things to be like they were before I was sick."

"So do I," John said, swallowing the lump in his throat as he pulled his son into a Winchester bear hug, "Except I want them to be even better."

TBC

Please review!

What parts worked, what didn't? What do you want to see happen next?

I appreciate any and all feedback; it can really alter the course of a story.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This story is just for my amusement.**

**Rated: K**

Dean parked himself on the couch under the afghan when they got home, Harold the cat in a warm ball at his feet.

Sammy was off of school for Christmas holidays, and spent the afternoon on the rag rug by the fireplace staging elaborate battles between his army men and the teenage mutant ninja turtles. John sat in the chair by the window, occasionally looking up from a book on German folklore to watch his boys, happy to have them all together again under one roof.

Marian was in the kitchen, cooking up a large batch of chicken soup and making several batches of sugar cookies to give to neighbours and friends. It had been years since she'd had a real Christmas with children present, and she was excited. She knew that money was tight for John, and the boys usually had a modest celebration, but she really wanted them to have a magical Christmas.

They were good kids who had seen too much in their short lives; she hoped they would like her surprise.

John woke Dean for lunch, and helped him to the table to join Sammy. He was still weak from the hospital, and John was alarmed at how bony his frame was as he guided him.

"I'm not hungry."

"The doctor said if you don't eat you'll end up back in the hospital. You don't want to be fed through a tube, Dean."

John felt bad for threatening the boy, but he was worried about Dean and anger had always been synonymous with fear for him.

"Eat up, you need your strength," he said more gently, pleadingly.

Dean looked doubtfully at the bowl in front of him. He didn't want to go back to the hospital. He wanted to stay at Mrs. Breedlove's with Sammy and his dad, but it hurt so badly whenever he ate; even if he'd been offered a piece of apple pie he wouldn't feel like eating. The gnawing pain was still there in his stomach, but it was bearable now- he really didn't want to feel like he had in the weeks before the hospital.

Gazing over at Sammy, he noticed the little boy was watching him worriedly, so he picked up his spoon and took an exaggeratedly big bite. He burned his tongue a little, but it was worth it when his brother grinned broadly and his dad let out a sigh of relief.

After the meal, Marian dug up a stack of her son's old Hardy Boys mysteries and went into the sitting room with the boys.

Sammy liked the sound of Mrs. Breedlove's voice- how she paused at the exciting parts, and used a different inflection when each character spoke. His dad only read to them from books about the supernatural, and the aim was to educate rather than entertain; story time was a bit of a foreign concept for the little boy.

"My voice is getting a little tired. Dean, would you mind continuing while I go get a drink of water?"

Dean hesitated, the book was really good and she'd stopped reading just as Frank and Joe were about to enter the cave… but what if he messed up a word or stumbled in front of Sammy?

He didn't want his brother to think he was stupid.

"C'mon Dean… I want to know what happens next!" Sammy said impatiently, and Dean cautiously started to read, never able to deny his brother anything.

In the kitchen, Marian noticed the faint smell of rotten eggs, and thought absently that she had better call the gas company later. It had been happening more and more lately, but whenever she thought about calling someone in the odour went away as suddenly as it had appeared.

John was in the kitchen looking through the paper's classifieds. He had circled a few help wanted ads, and was now making his way through the section of apartments for rent.

Marian smiled to herself as she filled a glass with water; _John Winchester settling down… never thought I'd see the day._

She paused in the doorway of the sitting room, listening to Dean's voice read the story to his brother. She grinned when he paused for dramatic effect, much like she did, making Sammy squeal with anticipation.

Dean sounded more grown up- confident, even; far different from the boy that had arrived at her home just a few weeks ago.

…

Dean was glad to be home.

Not that Mrs. Breedlove's house was where he would be living permanently- he knew better than to expect that- but being under the same roof as his father and Sammy; that was home.

Lying in his own bed, not attached to anything electronic or beeping, Dean drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face.

In the next room, John poured over pharmacy receipts and the bills from the clinic and hospital, frowning as he added the totals on a calculator; too much money was going out and not enough coming back to replace it. Dean would be on a number of expensive drugs for the foreseeable future, and the family's finances were already strained. Ghost hunting and supernatural pest control was satisfying work and John knew he was doing a public service- unfortunately the pay was crap.

Hustling pool and playing cards was enough to get by when they were on the road, but to settle down in a decent place and look after a sick child wasn't cheap. They weren't even paying rent right now, but he couldn't impose on Marian's kindness forever.

He tried to think of areas where they could save money, but their lifestyle was pretty well pared down to the essentials as it was, and Dean's medical costs couldn't be waylaid by credit card fraud if he was to have a permanent residence. He stared out the window at the night sky, silently asking Mary for advice, but he knew he was only talking to himself; if anything he was asking the stars.

Sammy padded into the room a little later; he was holding Aquaman in a white knuckled grip and his eyes were wide and dark with fear.

John had noticed some regression in both boys since Dean's illness; Sam had become less cuddly as he had grown up, but lately he seemed to crave the physical contact. Dean wanted to know where his father was at all times, and liked to keep his brother close by (which wasn't a problem because Sam never seemed to leave his side).

"What's the matter sport? Can't sleep?"

Sam shook his head and came and crawled onto his father's lap.

"I had a bad dream- there was a fire."

…

Dean woke up to the familiar cramping pain, and rushed down the hall to the bathroom.

He spent the next half hour sitting on the toilet, rocking himself back and forth, trying to stay ahead of the pain. Finally, he stood up gingerly and walked down the hall to Mrs. Breedlove's room, _maybe she had a heating pad he could use, like the one at the hospital._

The door was closed, which was unusual, so Dean knocked; his dad had taught him always to knock before entering a room. A few minutes later, after Marian failed to come to the door, he knocked again, this time turning the brass handle with a creak.

Heat emanated from the room, and the scene played out in front of him just like in his nightmares, except there was no figure pinned to the ceiling, only an ugly red stain running down the mattress.

He stood there frozen for a moment, staring at the crimson stain. He tried to yell, but his vocal chords had seized up and only let out a strangled sound.

He ran down the hall and shook John awake.

"Dad, it's back."

TBC

Feedback is much appreciated (I see how many of you are reading)!


	11. Chapter 11

Five minutes.

That's how long it takes for John to get the situation under control. In the grand scheme of things five minutes goes by quickly, but in times of chaos it can seem to stretch for days.

Running through a heavy cloud of smoke and déjà vu, John shepherded his boys outside before running back in the house to look for Marian. He checked the bedrooms and bathrooms before heading downstairs to search the main floor. No luck.

The wailing siren of a fire truck could be heard, and then the voices of his children screaming.

_Dean. Sam._

John ran into the cold night air, sucking in a great lungful of oxygen which led to racking coughs.

"Daddy!" Sam ran towards him, hugging him at the waist before dragging him by the hand to where Dean was bent over something.

Some_one._

_Marian._

"I think her leg's broken dad, and she's bleeding from her stomach," Dean said worriedly.

"Are you boys okay?" John's sons nodded, so he strode past to get a better look at Marian Breedlove. She was unconscious but breathing and a strong but steady pulse beat in her wrist. He saw the window to her bedroom had been pushed open, and figured she had either jumped or been pushed. He assumed it was the former; if it was the thing that killed Mary, it would have burned her alive, not pushed her out a window and risk her survival.

Her leg stuck out at an unnatural angle, and the front of her nightgown was stained with blood; Dean's assessment appeared to be correct.

"Is she still alive?" Sammy asked tearfully, holding on to his brother's elbow as if his life depended on it.

"She'll be fine, Sammy. She just got knocked out when she fell," answered Dean, with more confidence than he felt.

The firemen were already pulling out giant hoses, and within a few minutes the blaze was extinguished. John ran over to talk to one of the firemen, and soon Marian was in a spinal collar and being transferred to a stretcher. The ambulance arrived moments later, and the paramedics loaded Mrs. Breedlove into the van.

…

They insist on bringing in John and the boys to monitor them for smoke inhalation, although none of them are keen on staying in bed, they are all too worried about Marian.

John makes plans; he thinks about tomorrow and next week. It isn't safe in Lawrence- that much is true.

Two attacks is enough- he and the boys are leaving, Marian too if she wanted. He had contacts in the hunting world- friends in several states that would put them up if he asked, but he hated to ask.

The nurse comes in with breakfast trays and says that their oxygen levels look good and that after they have something to eat, there's no reason they can't be released. Oh, and the boy's grandmother is awake.

Sammy eats his breakfast quickly; jabbering away about what he's going to write on Mrs. Breedlove's cast when he sees her. Dean picks at his food, eventually looking over at John for the nod that he's eaten enough.

"You feeling okay buddy, just not hungry?"

Dean shrugs; the excitement of the fire had been a temporary distraction, but now the pain is back in earnest, and he needs to use the bathroom again.

John opens his mouth to ask another question, when the door to their little room opens and the nurse enters followed by another woman.

"Dr. Murphy," the woman introduces herself, thrusting a small, slightly pudgy hand in John's direction.

"I've been in charge of your mother's care since she arrived, Mr. Winchester."

"Call me John- how is she doing?"

"Her leg was broken in two places- it's been set and plastered; she'll have it on for six to eight weeks. Minor lacerations of the abdomen, didn't require stitches…" her eyes wandered down the clipboard in her hand, "Grade three concussion, which we're monitoring closely."

…

Marian's eyes are closed but the nurse assures them that she is conscious, and merely asleep.

John is in the lobby making a long distance call when she wakes up. She hears the steady beeping of the heart monitor, and is reassured that she is still alive. Carefully cracking open an eyelid she shields her face from the too bright lights which the nurse quickly dims. She answers the same questions they've been asking her since she first regained consciousness- what year is it, who is the president et cetera; the answers becoming more obvious each time she repeats them.

Sammy leans forward eagerly when she says his name, and Dean smiles in a relieved sort of way.

"Are you boys alright? What about your dad?"

"We're fine, grandma," Sam answers, his lips easily forming the lie, knowing that his father is supposed to be Mrs. Breedlove's son.

"Dad's making a phone call," Dean supplies.

"Does it hurt really bad?" Sam wants to know; Dean has broken his wrist and his collar bone, but the youngest Winchester has yet to break anything.

"The doctors are giving me medicine so I don't feel any pain right now. Have you had anything to eat? My tray's on the bedside table, but I don't want it."

"Daddy and I ate, but Dean just ate two bites," Sam reports, and his brother shoots him an evil look.

John comes back into the room and sits in the chair on Marian's left, they start talking in hushed voices, mindful of the nurse who keeps pacing the halls.

Sam tries to hear what the grownups are talking about, but he's suddenly very tired, and his head keeps nodding toward his chest as he struggles to stay awake, and eventually he gives in. Dean pretends to be asleep too, but really he's listening to his dad's conversation. He knows they'll be moving for sure, as soon as Mrs. Breedlove is out of the hospital, and he's looking for some clue as to where they'll head next.

His dad mentions a friend in South Dakota they might be able to stay with. Marian wants to go back to her house, but the smoke and water damage will keep her out of it for at least a month while repairs are made, so she agrees to go with John and the boys.

"I don't think the medicine is doing a damned thing for him," John worries, and Dean tenses at his words. "He's in and out of the bathroom all the time, he isn't eating…"

"Why don't you get him looked at while we're here? Maybe they need to increase his dose?"

"That's not a bad idea, Marian. I don't want to put him through a long drive when he's so sick."

Dean feels a twinge of anxiety- he doesn't want to deal with doctors and hospitals, and he doesn't want to worry everyone; he doesn't want to be sick.

…

John and the boys stay at a motel while Marian is in the hospital.

John writes furiously is in his notebook, and constantly sips whiskey from a silver flask. He makes long distance calls around the clock.

Dean tries to keep Sammy happy by playing eye spy and hide and seek, although almost everything in the room is brown, and there aren't many places to hide. Sammy talks about Christmas and Santa, and Dean tries to downplay the importance of the holiday without totally crushing the kid's spirit. He doesn't want to see the look on his brother's face when his father forgets December 25th.

John tries to be patient about Dean's eating, keeps telling himself that his son's appetite will return, that the pills are making him well, until something happens that he can't ignore.


	12. Chapter 12

He's feeding the payphone with yet another quarter when Sammy comes running across the parking lot towards him.

Sammy shouldn't be in the parking lot, he's supposed to be in the motel room with his brother- which means only one thing.

Something has happened to Dean.

So suddenly John is running back to the room, and then he is kicking open the bathroom door, and shielding his six year old from the sight of his brother's crumpled body.

His fingers dial 911, and soon the sound of sirens can be heard, an echo from the fire which burns his soul.

The red and white doors close behind the stretcher, and John and Sammy follow the flashing lights to County General.

…

John flips absently through a fly fishing magazine.

He doesn't fly fish, but he's not really seeing the glossy images of expensive lures and reels, so it doesn't matter. He could be reading the phonebook.

Sammy looks through a children's activity book, half the puzzles already completed or scribbled on with crayons. He doesn't seem to be processing anything on the pages either; or maybe he just doesn't feel like spotting the difference.

Since he could talk, he's been pointing out the differences between his life and those of other children- he doesn't have a mommy or a real home, and his daddy isn't really a mechanic but no one else can know that.

Sammy knows that spotting the differences won't make them go away.

They wait for nearly two hours before a man in green scrubs bursts through the swinging double doors into the waiting room. He uses a lot of medical terms that neither of them comprehend, before phrasing it in terms meant to explain to Sammy, that finally clarify to John what is wrong with his son.

Dean was _bleeding_ inside, they had to operate.

They are led down a white corridor and into a white room, Dean lies in a white bed, his face is pale. A bag so red it is nearly black hangs from the i.v. pole, feeding blood into a pale blue vein.

Marian comes and joins the vigil when she is finally discharged. Her face still has the strained look of someone in pain, but she insists that she is fine.

Sammy draws on Mrs. Breedlove's cast with a black sharpie, and colours bright, happy pictures to decorate the stark walls. He presses hard with the crayons so the pictures are vibrant- even though the effort makes his fingers tired, because Dean is worth it.

They wait, and they hope, and they wait some more.

…

Dean wakes up.

He sees a bright yellow sun wearing red sunglasses, which confuses him because he is pretty sure that it's December.

Someone squeezes his hand.

He asks for water but doesn't get any.

The nurse attaches another bag to his i.v. pole and Dean's eyes close again.

…

Dean is released on Christmas Eve.

The boys awaken on the morning of the twenty fifth to Marian standing with her crutches at the foot of their bed; John stands beside her and rings a silver bell.

The bell is mounted on the handle bar of one of two new bicycles.

Sammy's is blue and Dean's is red, and their father has never seen them smile so widely.

John gives the boys his own small gifts, which pale in comparison to what Marian has given them, but his sons' receive their presents with genuine gratitude and he wonders what he did to deserve such great kids.

They go to Denny's for Christmas dinner, and John tries to focus on Dean's returning health and just be grateful- he's eating again, the new medication seems to be working- but the back of his mind is cluttered with the mounting figures he must pay.

The hospital keeps phoning. They know his name and where to find him.

…

John bounces a check.

He accepts a loan from Marian so he can pay the hospital and feed his family; his pride is hurt- that much is clear.

The old John would have refused such a loan, but he is slowly changing- learning to accept help when it is offered.

The Dew Drop Inn is no longer in his price range, so he packs up the impala, cringing a bit when he screws the new bicycle rack onto his baby. Marian rides in the passenger seat, her injured leg elevated on a jumbo box of ammunition, Sam and Dean occupy the back seat for the drive to South Dakota.

Entering Pierre, John looks in the rear view at his sleeping sons. Sammy clutches Aquaman, and Dean clutches Sammy; their faces are content.

…

They stay with Bobby for a while- Dean and Marian regain their strength, and the boys attend school.

Mrs. Breedlove helps Dean with his reading, and Sammy loses a tooth. John works at the garage, eventually earning enough money to pay Marian back and pad his account for a while.

Spring comes and goes, and Marian gets word that her house is habitable again. John drives her back to Kansas and spends a few days drawing pentagrams on the old woman's walls. He lines each window and door with salt and makes her promise to do the same.

He and the boys will come back periodically to check on her, but they both know that whatever evil has visited the house is gone for good.

Marian kisses Sammy and Dean (which they don't really mind despite their groans of protest) and pulls John into a warm embrace.

"Don't be strangers, now. John- you take care of my boys, and that includes yourself."

The bear of a man grins like a little boy and shakes his head at the woman's mother hen routine (which he doesn't really mind either).

Sammy and Dean both clamour for the front seat, Dean whooping with triumph when he wins, then relenting at his little brother's pout and promising to switch at the next rest stop.

John turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life.

Maybe they'll head west. Something is killing surfers along the coast of California and it isn't a shark. He's read about some disappearances in Vermont that might be their kind of thing, but who knows.

Dean rolls down the window and lets the breeze ruffle his hair; his father turns on the radio, twisting the dial until he finds an old country song.

Dean opens his mouth to protest, but John just smiles.

"Driver picks the music…"

"Shotgun shuts his cakehole!" Sammy finishes from the backseat as his father barks with laughter.

The Winchester's lives are in a state of flux, the future is unknown.

Things are back to normal.

_**Fin**_

**Finally finished my first Supernatural fic, hope you all enjoyed! I would greatly appreciate a quick comment, but thank you all the same if you prefer just to read. I may return to this verse at some point if there is enough interest, or perhaps write something completely different.**

**Thanks for coming along for the ride!**


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